


Boy and girl meet by the great design (could it be that you and me are the lucky ones?)

by FanaticMoose



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellarke Valentines, F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-16 22:11:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5842921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanaticMoose/pseuds/FanaticMoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy usually doesn’t mind being left in the room alone. He’s taken to reading the signs on the walls and counting pleats in the sheets, but this time he’s not the only person there. The tension in the air is almost three dimensional. He looks at Clarke hoping she’ll say something, mainly so that he doesn’t have to, but she remains silent.He watches her as she fiddles with her watch, again.  Its has a worn face and from what he can see the hands no longer move.</p><p>He figures it must been something sentimental. Broken things rarely get kept.</p><p>“It’s a beautiful watch,” he says finally. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>(aka 3 times Bellamy and Clarke talked about their families and the one time they had a family of their own)</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>(aka I can't write pregnancy fics so this is what happened)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Boy and girl meet by the great design (could it be that you and me are the lucky ones?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bamboozled214](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bamboozled214/gifts).



> Happy Valentines Day!! It isn't as fluffy as I would like, but I've never been the best with fluff, so forgive me!! I still really liked how it turned out, though and I hope you do, too.
> 
> (Also a big thank you to @gryhffindores, on tumblr, for helping me!! You're amazing!)

**i. July, 2007**

No matter how many times he walks through that door, nothing changes. The hospital asked him to come regularly so they can check his burns while they heal. It has been a year since the accident. By now, the bright florescent lights no longer hurt his eyes and he’s pretty sure there are 207 tiles from the front door to the welcome desk. There are a lot of people in the waiting room (that’s not new) and none of them even glances up to look at him. To them he’s just another victim of an accident and he’s kinda glad that hasn’t changed; he doesn’t think he could handle more stares. He’s on auto pilot when he walks into the large room used for quick check-ups, so he almost doesn’t see her. 

There’s a girl sitting on the bed parallel to his. She looks young, probably only a year his junior, placing her somewhere around 18. He can see that she’s playing with an old watch. Her hand fiddling with it is covered in old burn scars that twine up her arm and disappear into the edge of her t-shirt. They match the ones on his back. The girl looks up when he walks into the room, the watch abandoned. When their gazes meet, Bellamy recognizes the look in her eyes. It’s the same one he sees every time he looks in the mirror. Bellamy clears his throat and starts to say something, but is saved an awkward introduction when the doctor comes in behind him.

“Oh,” she says, “Clarke. I didn’t realize your check-up was scheduled for today.” 

The girl blinks up at the doctor and replies, “you would know that if you ever came home.” She says it in a cold voice and it makes Bellamy feel small, even though she wasn’t talking to him. 

The doctor, “Dr. Griffin” her coat reads, purses her lips and looks at Clarke steadily. “We’re not doing this here, Clarke.” 

“Fine.” Clarke shrugs. “You have another patient anyway.” 

Dr. Griffin turns to look at him, and Bellamy can tell by the look on her face that she hadn’t realized he was there. She recovers smoothly and with a tight grace. “My apologies. I’m Dr. Abby Griffin and I’m going to be doing your check-up today. I’m afraid Dr. Jackson was held up.”

“That’s alright,” Bellamy says, not knowing what else to say. 

Dr. Griffin gestures at the bed next to Clarke’s and says, “take a seat and we’ll get started.” 

She moves quickly into the regular questions: 

“Have you been feeling any pain or discomfort since your last check-up?” No. 

“Has there been any bleeding?” No. 

“Has the scarred skin been cleaned regularly, or as instructed?” Yes. 

“Have you been going to the offered support groups?” No. 

Dr. Griffin takes his vitals and then moves swiftly from the room with the promise to return momentarily. 

Bellamy usually doesn’t mind being left in the room alone. He’s taken to reading the signs on the walls and counting pleats in the sheets, but this time he’s not the only person there. The tension in the air is almost three dimensional. He looks at Clarke, hoping she’ll say something, mainly so that he doesn’t have to, but she remains silent. He watches her as she fiddles with the watch again. It has a worn face and from what he can see, the hands no longer move. 

He figures it must be something sentimental. Broken things rarely get kept. 

“It’s a beautiful watch,” he says finally. 

Clarke looks up and it strikes him how blue her eyes are, and how sad. They remind him of Octavia’s, in a painful sort of way. She studies him for a moment before she looks away. 

“Thanks,” she says, her voice short and clipped. 

When it becomes apparent that she isn’t going to say anything else, he reaches into the collar of his shirt and pulls out a locket. “This was my mothers,” he tells her and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Clarke look back up. “Then, when she died, it went to my sister. Now I have it.” 

He looks over at her and she doesn’t move from his gaze, “I’m sorry for your loss.” She states it like she’s reciting from a book. 

Putting the locket away, he shrugs and says, “I’m sorry for yours, too.” 

Clarke startles a little. It obviously wasn’t what she had expected. He braces for her to snap at him, but Clarke just sighs and takes off the watch.  
She bites her lip as she reads the time - 12:07, Bellamy notes - and then says, “this was my dad’s.”

Bellamy doesn’t say anything. 

Clarke sighs again and turns to look at him fully. “I got it when I got the burns.” She doesn’t need to explain further. 

Bellamy offers: “I was in the explosion on 48th Street, about a year ago.”

Clarke doesn’t ask what explosion he means; it would have been all over the news. 

“The doctors say I have burns over 30% of my body, but I figure that’s just an excuse to show off their doctor-y math skills,” she says. 

He smiles, the memory of a smile. “They’ve been trying to get me to go to support groups.” 

“The one time I went they said I had to stop asking every one if they wanted to join my _I Only Have One Parent Because the Other One Died Club_.” 

“I have actually been to one of those; it’s not as fun as it sounds.” 

Clarke laughs. Its a warm laugh that doesn’t match her eyes. Bellamy smiles. 

“I’m Bellamy.”

“Clarke.” 

* * *

**ii. December, 2009**  
“I still don’t think this is a good idea.” Bellamy looks down at Clarke over his mountain of scarves. She pinches him, or at least he thinks she does, since he can’t feel anything through his two winter coats. They’re both layered with enough warm clothes that he’s beginning to feel like the kid from A Christmas Story. 

“Oh don’t be such a big baby,” Clarke says and pulls her hair out of its bun. The golden strands fall down around her and cover her ears, so all Bellamy can see is her eyes and nose. It’s a cute nose, he thinks, like Rudolph's. He tells her as much, which earns him another pinch.

He grumbles at her, but she just laughs and looks toward the boarding schedule. “Airports are always cold. Plus, this way we don’t have to fit extra coats into our suitcases.” 

“I didn’t mean the coats,” he says it softly. 

Clarke turns away from the illuminated sign and sighs. “She’s your sister, and she loves you.” 

“I haven’t seen her in two years, not since her foster family moved, and now I’m just gonna show up for Christmas and tell her I want to bring her home to formally adopt her.” He shakes his head. 

Turning to look at him, Clarke furrows her eyebrows and reaches for his hand. She knows his relationship with Octavia is rocky. She’d learned that the younger girl had been taken away after the accident that killed their mother, and that Bellamy still blames himself for it. He had been only 18 when his mom died; too young to raise a child by himself. But no matter how many times she tells him this, it doesn’t seem to register. 

“She has a life there now. For all I know I’m just a memory of her past, someone she gets birthday cards from.” He sighs and looks up at the boarding schedule. Their flight was going to board in 5 minutes. 

“That’s ridiculous, and you know it,” Clarke says, “you will always be her family.” 

He squeezes her hand, but doesn’t say anything else. The next 5 minutes pass quickly. Bellamy doesn’t mention Octavia again. Clarke distracts him with jokes about gift shop toys and the ridiculous elf ears the employees are required to wear. Bellamy doesn’t laugh, though. He just sits and nods like he isn’t really listening. 

He’s still silent when they board the plane and take their seats. Clarke sighs and reaches over to open the window blind. The plane’s wings stretch in front of her and beneath them she can see people running around, loading suitcases and shouting directions. It reminds her of when her dad would take her on his business trips. He would let her sit by the window and make up stories about the things she saw. The clouds held a castle for the sky princess, he would say. 

“Octavia loved flying,” Bellamy says now, pulling her out of her thoughts. “We only ever went on a plane one time, but she couldn’t stop talking about it.” 

“Tell me about her.” Clarke sees his eyes light up, the way they always do when someone asks about his sister. 

Bellamy sighs and looks out the window. “We went to see my dad for the first time since he left us. He had moved all the way to Oregon and we hadn’t seen him since he got remarried. But there was something happening in his town, something big I don’t even remember now, and his wife told him to invite us. She wanted to meet us. 

“We never saw him, though. He bailed on picking us up from the airport. We ended up spending the night in a homeless shelter before we called my mom and she had them change our flight back for the next day. It was a shit experience, but the flying was worth it.

“Octavia was going on and on about the clouds and the feeling of being so high up.” He laughs. “ She kept claiming that she was gonna grow up and be a flight attendant. Then later she said she was gonna join the army just so she could jump out of airplanes. I think she said that mainly to antagonize my mom, who was terrified of heights, but-” He cuts off.

Clarke takes his hand and smiles. “You know, my dad used to take me with him on business trips.” 

“Oh yeah?” Bellamy smirks, but it’s a little sad. “I bet you hated that.” 

Clarke laughs. “You would think!” She shakes her head. “I hated going away from home, and I hated having to spend time alone, when my dad was working, but the flying was great!” 

“Tell me about him.” Bellamy whispers, echoing her earlier statement. 

“He used to make up these stories about a princess in the sky.”

“Would this princess happen to have golden hair?” Bellamy teases., tugging on one of her loose curls. Clarke slaps his hand away and sticks her tongue at him. 

“Oh, shut up and listen.” Clarke says. “My dad never told me her hair color. But he told me about her palace. It was 10 stories tall, with a winding staircase going all the way to the highest tower so the princess could look out over the sky. It had golden arches that opened to beautiful gardens. The gardens were filled with every kind of flower you could think of - saturated red and pink roses, giant birds of paradise with petals that never wilted, lilac plants that had overpowering smells all year round - and the princess would sit for hours just drawing the plants.” 

She looks at Bellamy. “I loved those stories.”

He wraps his arm around her shoulder and she nestles in snugly. Now he is the one offering support, despite his nervous anticipation about the reunion with Octavia. “It sounds like your dad was a pretty great guy.”

Clarke nods. He kisses the top of her head and they pause, lingering for a long moment. “He was.” 

“He would have liked you.” 

“I think I would have liked him too.” 

* * *

**iii. May, 2014**

“Close your eyes.” Octavia commands. 

Clarke looks up from her book. “What?” 

The younger girl snatches the book and throws it over her shoulder. “Close your eyes,” she says again.

“I was reading that, you know.” 

“Ugh, just close your eyes.”

Grumbling, Clarke obeys. Octavia grabs her hand and navigates her through the apartment. 

“Okay. Stay here.” Clarke hears her turn and rummage through a closet. 

Laughing Clarke says, “I’m not going anywhere!”

Octavia turns back and commands, “Take off your clothes.” 

After much fussing and a few jabs from the brunette, Clarke finds herself standing awkwardly, donned in a heavy material. 

“You look hot.” 

“I can’t even see myself.” 

“Oh shh, you know it’s true.” 

“Can I open my eyes now?” 

“No.” Octavia fiddles with the material around Clarke’s legs. 

Clarke sighs, but keeps her eyes closed.

“Okay,” Octavia brushes some of Clarke’s hair from her shoulder. “There. You can look now.” 

Clarke opens her eyes. 

She’s wearing a wedding dress. She’s never seen it before. It’s beautiful and, she admits, she does look hot. The dress is a light cream color and the long sleeves are a thin layer of patterned lace that accents the shape of her arms. The skirt of the dress is made of a sheer tulle that layers and billows around her hips and looks nice with her curves. It droops down to the floor in the back with a long train, but lifts just slightly in the front so she doesn’t trip. 

“Octavia-” Clarke starts to say, but the girl cuts her off. 

“I know. It’s perfect.” She smiles her blinding smile. 

“It is. But it looks much too expensive.” Clarke says, and turns to look at Octavia. 

Octavia waves a hand. “Oh, I didn’t buy it. My mom made it.” 

Clarke almost falls over.

“Your-,” she stutters, “your mom made this?!” She moves to unzip the dress. 

“Stop that!” Octavia scolds and swipes at Clarke’s hands. “It looks beautiful.” 

“I can’t wear this, Octavia.” 

Octavia looks at her very seriously. “Yes. You can.” 

She finishes re-zipping the gown. “My mom made this for either my brother’s future wife, or for me. She made it very clear that it wasn’t intended for anyone else. Though it may have to be let out a little, around the hips.” 

Clarke blinks back tears. “I-”

“Don’t cry,” Octavia says, “because then I’ll cry and I spent way too much time on my eyeliner to ruin it.” 

Clarke laughs. “Thank you.” 

“Just wait until my brother sees it, then you can really thank me.” Octavia holds out a pair of shoes for Clarke. 

“Wait till your brother sees what?” says a voice from the doorway. 

Clarke turns to look at Bellamy, her eyes suddenly shy. Is she blushing? But Clarke is blinded by Octavia’s hair whipping in her eyes as she spins towards her brother and begins pushing him from the room.

“No no no no no,” she says, “you get out. You’re not allowed to see Clarke’s dress until the wedding, next month!” 

Bellamy laughs and turns to go, but not before an electric instant in which he looks above his sister’s head and catches Clarke’s eyes, shining with anticipation. Abruptly, Clarke speaks up. “Octavia, it’s okay. I never liked that tradition anyway.” 

Octavia huffs, but pulls back. “Fine, but I’m leaving before the sweet mushiness gives me a tooth ache.” 

She skirts around her brother, shooting him one last withering look. Bellamy smiles and wiggles his eyebrows at her before turning back to Clarke and, seeing her, promptly falls over his own feet. 

Clarke blinks down at him and starts to say something, maybe something teasing, but the words get caught in her throat. Bellamy is looking at her. Clarke isn’t quite sure what to do with that look. 

She glances down, her emotions in turmoil. She feels an unusual sensation of insecurity. Her knees feel weak. “It’s a bit much, huh? Never really thought I would be a dress kind of girl.” 

Bellamy half laughs, getting up from the floor. 

“It’s a wedding,” he says in a broken voice. The enormity of the moment is facing him in the face, even as he speaks lightly. “I think your supposed to wear a dress.” 

He’s standing in front of her now. 

Clarke scoffs. “How heteronormative of you.” But she’s smiling. And blushing. And...fluttery.

“It looks beautiful.” He whispers. “You look beautiful.” 

He smiles and moves his hands to her hips. His smile is stunning. Clarke looks up at him when he pushes her hair from her face. Bellamy’s eyes have the singular ability to convey a bottomless devotion, and Clarke feels her nerves settle into those depths.

He knows how to bring them both to earth, solid and safe beneath this overwhelming moment. “I’m glad you’re keeping your hair down for the ceremony,” he says, “I always liked it better down.” 

“Yeah, well, as long as you don’t slick back your hair.” Now her breathing feels normal again.

Bellamy smirks. “If I did that, there wouldn’t be a ceremony.” 

“Damn straight.” She laughs and reaches up to play with his hair. 

“Seriously,” his voice gets quieter, “I wish my mom was here to see you.” 

She smiles and pulls him into a hug. Clarke feels him breathe out slowly and then in again, like he’s trying to memorize the scent and feel of her. She grips him a little tighter. “Bell, I think she is here. In this dress. In your heart. She won’t be far from us next month.”

“She would have loved you. She always said she’d love anyone who made me happy, but I know that she would have really loved you.” Bellamy squeezes her waist as if he will never let go.. 

“My mom, you know, she had this smile that could fill you up with warmth. If you could pry it from her.” His head is buried in her shoulder, but she can hear him clearly.. “I see that smile in you, every time I see you. I love you so much.” 

“I know,” says Clarke, “ and I have loved you and I love you and I will always love you.”

* * *

**iv. October, 2019**

Bellamy knows something is different the moment he walks through the door. For one, Clarke doesn’t cook. The last time she had tried, their entire apartment complex had to be evacuated, and yet, there it was: the overpowering smell of Chicken Afritada in their apartment. 

“Clarke!” He calls out. “Are you there?” 

There’s a bang from the kitchen and muffled cursing. 

“Clarke!” He yells again. “Clarke, are you okay?” 

He drops his bag on to the floor and quickly moves into the kitchen. Clarke is sitting on the floor, her head in her hands and an overturned skillet pan lying near her. He quickly turns off the heat before he crouches next to her

“Clarke?” No answer. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” 

She just shakes her head and pulls her knees up to her chest. The sound of her soft crying breaks his heart. 

“Come here,” he says, pulling her into his lap. Her arms go automatically around his neck and she buries her face into his neck. He can feel the wetness of her tears though his shirt. 

He holds her even tighter. “ Please, tell me what’s wrong!?” 

Clarke only hugs him closer. 

Sighing, Bellamy repositions himself so that he is leaning on the fridge and she is safely tucked into his arms. It takes a few moments of his stroking her hair and back before her crying stops. She doesn’t pull back, though, just takes deep breaths and clutches his shoulders. He hears her say something, but it’s garbled. 

“I can’t understand you,” he says, softly. 

Clarke takes a shuddering breath and pulls back to look at him. Her eyes are bloodshot and tired looking. It breaks his heart. He reaches up to touch her cheek; she grabs for his hand and presses it there. 

“I just wanted to cook something nice for you.” She whispers. “But I dropped the food on the floor.” 

Bellamy looks at her. _Is that all?_ “Clarke, is that what you’re upset about?” 

She nods. 

“Oh Clarke.” He pulls her back into his arms. “It’s just food. We can order out.” 

“You don’t understand.” She sounds completely defeated. “I wanted it to be special.”

“Everything I do with you is special. You don’t have to go out of your way.” 

She shakes her head. “I wanted this to be special-special.” 

Bellamy smiles softly at her. “Is there a reason why?”

Clarke is silent for a moment. He can hear her mind turning over and over, trying to decide what she wants to say. It takes a lot for Clarke to get upset. Especially over things as small as this. 

“I’m pregnant.” She speaks finally. 

Bellamy freezes. That wasn’t what he thought she was going to say. In a short instant, every hope and fear he could imagine flew through his mind and were gone.

She goes on quickly. “I was gonna make your favorite meal and tell you. It was going to be this special moment but I dropped the food and you were already home and-” 

“Clarke.” He cuts her off. Bellamy turns her head to look at him, but she won’t meet his eyes. “Clarke please look at me.” This buys him precious time to gather his thoughts, his emotions.

She does. 

“Are you sure?” 

She nods. “This isn’t how I wanted this to go.” 

“It doesn’t matter how you tell me,” he says, “I love you. This is perfect just as it is and this baby will be perfect.” He smiles to himself at the perfection of this woman and this future, juxtaposed against her despair on the kitchen floor.

Clarke lets out a choked laugh and pulls him in for a kiss. 

It’s sloppy, her tears wetting his lips and she’s pushing into him hard enough that his head knocks back into the fridge. 

She pulls back, but only just, and smiles brightly at him. 

He kisses her again, and again, light and laughing. “We can paint the baby’s room green and I saw this beautiful mobile that has glass suns and clouds that we can put over the crib.” 

Clarke laughs loudly at his enthusiasm, and nods.

“That sounds beautiful.” She whispers. 

“We’re gonna need a name.” 

“A historical name?” Clarke asks, teasing. 

“You’re okay with that?” 

She kisses him again. “There are worse things to be named.” 

“Whatever we decide,” he says, “it’s gonna be perfect.” 

“Our very own family.” Clarke sounds breathless. “Are we ready for this?” 

“With you, I’m ready for anything.” 

**FIN**

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr (wanheqa.tumblr.com)


End file.
